standards of resistance apply no longer, and what once did not disturb
will now shake her to the centre. A time comes, however, when she will
do well to meet and relearn to bear calmly all the little emotional
trials of life. I know a nervous woman--and no coward, either--who for
months, and wisely, read no newspapers, and who asked another to open
and read all her letters and telegrams. The day came when she was able
to resume the habits of health, but for a long time the telegram at
least was a sore distress, and she could only meet it by a resolute
putting of herself in the attitude of tranquillity of which I have
spoken. To say more should be needless. For the nervous strong emotions
are bad or risky, and from violent mirth to anger all are to be
sedulously set aside. Calm of mind and quiet of body are what she most
needs to aid the more potent measures of the physician.

The woman in the situation I have described has probably a variety of
symptoms on which her condition causes her to dwell. A great many of
them are of little practical moment. If she is irresolute and weak, she
yields where she should not, and finds for inactivity or for fears ample
excuses in the state of her own feelings. An unwholesome crop of
disabilities grows out of these conditions. It then becomes the business
of her physician to tell her what is real, what is unreal, what must be
respected, what must be overcome or fought. She has acquired within
herself a host of enemies. Some are strong, some are feeble. The hour
for absolute trust has arrived, and she must now believe in her adviser,
or, if she cannot, she must acquire one in whom her belief will be
entire and unquestioning.

Let us take an illustration. Such a woman is apt enough to suffer from
vertigo or giddiness. "If I walk out," she says, "I become giddy. I am
rarely free from this unless I am in bed, and it terrifies me." You know